


Splinters

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season Five.  Following on directly from end of Fool for Love and onwards.  Spike has come to kill Buffy with a shotgun!  Finds her sitting on the porch steps, crying about her Mother's illness.  And everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steps

SPLINTERS

by Lilachigh

 

Chp 1. Steps

 

He wished she would stop crying. He could have coped with screaming, welcomed blood and broken flesh, bruising and muscles torn beyond repair. The gun lying at his side would have caused all that and more and that would have been OK....  
But the silent tears trickling down her cheeks made him feel - ? Something he couldn’t quite recognise, something he hadn’t felt for a long time.... if he could just remember....

He patted her back, trying to comfort her, then his hand fell away as she shrugged him off. And still she didn’t speak.

The wooden step they were sitting on felt rough under his fingers. He ran his hands over the ridge where two pieces of wood met. Little shards were breaking off.

She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t told him the cause of all this grief. Had he caused it? No - hatred, disdain, disgust - all those he could sense and they were her right where he was concerned, and his right to accept. Slayer and Vampire. Nothing wrong with that.

But surely he hadn’t made her cry! Suddenly, he recognised what he was feeling - he was anxious! Anxiety - God - from what bloody memory hell had that crept into his mind?

His fingers gripped the decking and he stared down at the two pairs of dusty black boots, side by side - one pair large, one ridiculously small to carry such strength.  
And somewhere, a faint echo in his mind came swimming to the surface.

William was eight years old....it was his birthday party...rotten blue velvet suit.. Bloody hell, he shuddered, he thought there’d even been frills on the neck somewhere.... He must have looked like sodding Little Lord Fauntleroy

He’d had a cousin....Miriam, Lydia, Miranda....had that been her name? A hot room, a fire burning, lots of children squealing and laughing. He remembered a conjuror, a piano playing...his mother, laughing as she organised silly games.

Miranda was pretty - white dress, pink sash, white satin shoes, bows in her hair - he’d liked her. She’d had a doll....no, he wou!dn’t go there! He’d liked her. But she’d pinched him, taken the piece of birthday cake he wanted and stuck out her tongue when he complained. So he’d hit her and stamped on her pretty shoes. And she’d cried.

His mother had said, “That was a very nasty, naughty thing to do, William. You must promise me never to hit a girl again. If I ever catch you making a girl cry, I’ll be very angry and upset.”

He remembered gazing down at Miranda’s shoes, ruined by the dirty marks, and because upsetting his mother was unacceptable, he’d promised....

Well, he’d killed enough girls since then, made them scream in terror and pain and agony. Miranda, too, come to think of it. There had been marks on her shoes on that day, too, he remembered now - bright red, wet and shiny.../So, yes, screams a plenty, but he’d never caused anyone these soundless tears of distress.

Liam had always liked to make girls cry, but then he was a bog-trotting Mick and they had issues with women. No, he hadn’t done this, but someone or something had. He felt the heavy, hot surge of anger and possession and for a second, his game face flashed out. She was his Slayer. His! No one else should ever hurt her but him.

In an instant he suddenly realised that during the last years, it wasn’t Liam’s love for her he hated, not even the fact that he’d slept with her, but the fact that he could and had hurt her - badly. Had made her cry.

He turned to look at Buffy again. Her hands were over her eyes and the tears were falling between them like quick silver. She didn’t even notice as he reached out, silently, and caught one on the tip of a finger.

It trembled, one gleaming drop of pure pain, as he carried it to his lips, his mouth, his tongue, his heart, and the biting splinters from the step drove deep under the nails on his other hand.

* * * * * *

‘Do stop moaning!’

‘Oh excuse me!’ Spike mumbled through a mouthful of fingers. “I have splinters down inside my finger nails! Splinters I’ve got from the rotten wood on your porch, Summers. A little sympathy wouldn’t go amiss here, Slayer!”

Buffy sighed. She wanted to sit on the porch step in the dark and worry about her mother. She wanted to feel sorry for herself, for being the Slayer with an enemy who seemed unbeatable, for having an irritating little sister who wasn’t real, for not being clever like Willow or witty like Xander.

What she didn’t want to have her long time enemy sitting next to her, sucking his fingers and groaning as if his arm was hanging by a thread. And what was he doing here on her porch, anyway? “Be quiet! My mom’s not well and Dawn’s asleep. You’ll disturb them both with all that whimpering.”

“Vampires don’t whimper! I’m being very English and keeping a stiff upper lip in the face of great pain.”

She started to say “Nothing about you is stiff, Spike!” then swallowed hard and was relieved that the night was so dark that he couldn’t see she’d blushed. Why did her mind always run off in such weird directions when she was talking to Spike?

When he wasn’t there, she could see him quite coldly as her mortal enemy, not have any qualms when Xander talked about staking him. Then, after a day or two of not seeing him, she got irritated with him for not being there. And once he was, she was irritated all over again, but in a different sort of way. A sort of physical, shivery way. Perhaps she was going down with flu.

“If you could just take your fingers out of your mouth for a few seconds, I could see what was wrong,” she snapped. “You’re acting like a big baby.”

Spike glared at her, the starlight turning his blue eyes to icy grey. Yes, he was in pain, but he’d known a lot worse and was sure he would in the future. But it was worth it because that dreadful aching distress had left Buffy’s face, at least for now.

Slowly, deliberately, he pulled his fingers from his mouth, one by one. He smiled inwardly; he could see the confusion in her face, smell the blood as it rose into her cheeks. She would never remember how keen his senses were, how attuned to her every mood. He held out his hand to her. “Have a look, then, Slayer.”

She reached out and took his hand without thinking. It was cold and damp and his fingers were far too long and she would not imagine where else they’d been recently or what they might do....and....

“Ugghh, revolting, Spike, you’re all sticky with chicken wing grease!” She flung his hand away and he yelped.

“That hurt! Look, won’t you just help a chap out here for once, Slayer. I can’t use that hand at all.”

Buffy hesitated. She didn’t want to go to bed. She would only lie there and worry about what the next day would bring. She had to do something to take her mind off her mom, off what she would say to Dawn to explain and comfort her when she discovered their mother had gone into hospital.

“If I let you into the kitchen, will you promise to be very quiet. And it’s a one off, Spike.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. He’d lost track if he was invited or not into the Summers’ home at the moment. It would help if they got a bleeding revolving door, he thought as he followed her round to the back of the house. He threw off his duster, sat at the kitchen table, legs sprawled in front of him, watching lazily as she pulled the kitchen first aid kit out of a drawer.

“I’ll need to dig out the splinters,’” she said, with altogether far too much joy in her voice for his liking.

“I’m feeling weak. I may be suffering from shock. I think you should make me some hot chocolate while I dabble my fingers in some nice warm water?” he suggested.

“No! The sooner this is over the better. I don’t want you sitting around dabbling your fingers in...well, in anything, Spike! ”

She sat on the other side of the table and he held out his hand. Buffy wrinkled up her nose at the black chipped nail polish. What was it with him and black? How odd. His nails were actually a nice shape underneath it. They were cut short, not bitten, as she’d imagined they would be. She found a needle in the box and picked up his forefinger to look for the splinter. Why on earth he’d needed to break up the wooden step, goodness knows.

She glanced up to find his brilliant blue gaze fixed on her. For a second or two she felt dizzy. That was what came from not eating this evening, she thought. For getting so upset over her mother who would go into hospital, discover that some silly mistake had been made with X rays or tests, or something, and be home again in a couple of days. There was no need to get dizzy!

“Ouch! That hurts.”

The needle had jabbed into the fleshy part of Spike’s finger. Buffy sighed. “Sorry, but I can’t see properly from this angle. Can’t you turn your hand round the other way?”

“Oh yes,” Spike growled. “The double jointed vampire, that’s me, folks! See me in any fair ground peep show. Look, do it this way. God, I don’t know what your Watcher teaches you. Any self-respecting Slayer should know basic first aid.”

Buffy bit her lip and wondered if her mother would mind if his hand got shut it in the microwave and she turned it onto high! Then with the speed that never failed to surprise her, he came round the table and was standing behind her, close, far too close - she could feel the chill coming from his body, the hard length of his legs against hers, but as she tried to spin round, his arm slid under hers and there was his hand in front of her, palm towards her.

She took a firm grip and grimly refused to acknowledge who the hand belonged to. She wouldn’t even think about what she was doing. She was just being kind to a hurt animal, like taking a thorn out of a lion’s paw: she was like a heroine in one of those fables her mother used to read to her when she was little. Eeeyore’s Fables, that was it, she was a heroine in.....

The first splinter sprung upwards on the end of the needle. Then the second, then the third....

“This little piggy went to market,” said Spike suddenly waggling his forefinger . “This little piggy stayed home, this little piggy ate roast beef, this little piggy had none and this little piggy went....”

“Shut up, Spike!” For one instant Buffy thought she could feel his breath laughing softly against her cheek, which was stupid because he didn’t breath. She twisted herself free. “No more nursery rhymes. You can get the last splinter out yourself, Spike. I’m finished and so are you!“

Buffy could feel her anger growing. She‘d just about had enough of the vampire tonight. What with crying in front of him while they sat on the porch, then having to dig splinters out of his fingers while he amused himself by chanting old English nursery rhymes in her ear...enough was enough.

“No need to get your knickers in a twist, pet.” Spike was back sprawled in his chair, eyes gleaming. He’d accomplished what he’d set out to do - taken her mind off whatever disaster had been making her so distressed earlier in the evening.   
She could be as angry with him for as long as she liked. He could cope with that, but he couldn’t cope with tears, not from his Slayer.

“I’ll be off before the sun comes up, you can always bet on that. Mind you, your Mum always makes me a nice cup of something before I go. Hot chocolate, coffee, tea. Proper tea, of course, not your rotten iced variety.”

“What!” Buffy didn’t realise she’d shouted until she heard faint movements upstairs from her mother‘s room. “You’re impossible, Spike. When exactly does my mother make you tea?”

Spike shrugged. “If I drop in while you’re out patrolling. I like Joyce. She’s got brains and - courage. And she’s kind.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Buffy snapped, and turned away so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. How could there be anything seriously wrong with her mother? Mothers didn’t get sick, mothers didn’t pack little bags and go off to hospital for tests. They were there, always, as sure as the sun rising and setting. Fathers vanished, went off to live abroad, didn’t keep their promises, but mothers... She felt smaller and smaller every time she thought about it. Younger and younger. She just wanted to be a little girl again and not have to think any more....

What would the CAT scan show in the morning? What should she tell Dawn? She couldn’t bear to think about it. But she couldn’t seem to think about anything else.

Spike noticed the way her lips had whitened, the tension in her face. “I’m sure Joyce would want you to make me a cup. It’s very stressful having a Slayer digging away at you with a needle. Having to stand so close to your mortal enemy. I could be in shock. I need hot strong tea. And – “ he said hopefully, “sometimes there‘re biscuits - sorry, cookies, can’t get this bleeding American language straight, even after all these years.”

Buffy took a deep breath. Why wouldn’t he go? She wanted to sit and worry about her mother, not indulge in verbal fencing with a guy - no, sorry, wrong word, with an evil thing - who had somehow managed to worm his way into her mom’s misguided books. “If I make you a drink, will you go?”

Spike looked up at her and a slow, deep smile spread over his face. “Of course, luv.”

“And don’t call me love,” she snapped automatically, wishing the shivery flu sensations she’d been feeling all night since their drink together at the Bronze would go away. She felt hot and cold and there was a weird tense knot in her stomach that wouldn’t ease.

Buffy filled the kettle and reached for a mug, slamming it onto the work surface. She pulled a teabag from the container.

“No, no, no. Do it right, Slayer. Joyce makes it properly.”

“What?”

Suddenly he was by her side, reaching past her to a high shelf. She flinched as his arm brushed hers, then he was lifting down a round, brown teapot she’d never known they had. “This is mine. I brought it over for your Mum. Makes a smashing cup of tea. Here, let me show you, pet.”

Buffy resisted the urge to smash the china pot over his head because a) it would make a noise and bring her mom downstairs, b) she supposed it could count as training because she could then make Giles a cup of tea when he was next round and he’d be pleased and surprised, and c} she didn’t seem to have the strength to say no, which was the result of shivery flu which wasn’t her fault.

“Pour a little boiling water into the pot,“ Spike said gravely, as if this was a very important factor. “You have to warm the pot before you make the tea. It’s vital. So you move the water around very gently. Making the perfect cuppa is an art, Slayer. Like playing music, like making love...”

His cool firm hands were tight over hers, cupping the warm china, swirling the liquid round and round. And she couldn’t pull away because she’d drop the pot and break it, the water would spill and ....

“Throw that water away - that’s right, now put in the tea bags - I’ve given up trying to make Joyce use loose tea-leaves - two bags, add the boiling water - now leave it to draw.”

“Draw?” Buffy gazed round distractedly. “I’ve got to draw something? I haven’t got a pencil!”

Spike’s lips twitched, but his voice was still very serious. “It’s called drawing when the water soaks into the tea. Different parts of Britain have different names for it - seeping, standing - I call it drawing. Where our Mick poofter friend comes from it’s called mashing.”

Buffy had a wild desire to phone Willow and tell her that she had to come up with a whole new vocabulary for her spells. Just ‘doing’ a spell was definitely not going to be good enough from now on.

The silence lengthened as they both stood watching the tea pot. Buffy suddenly realised that it wasn’t an awkward silence; it was comfortable, safe. She was relaxing, every muscle giving way slowly and gently. She could feel the tension easing from her shoulders and for a long, mad moment, she wished she could drop her head onto the black T-shirted shoulder next to her, shut her eyes and drift off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that nothing bad could happen to her while he was there....

God, this was Spike. He might be chipped, but she still reckoned he’d try and kill her the second her eyes shut. The flu was sending her crazy as well as shivery. “OK Spike, enough! Pour your tea, drink it and go.”

Spike solemnly added a little milk to his mug, poured out the tea and stirred it. “Too hot yet, pet. Got to wait till it cools down a little.”

Buffy sat down wearily next to him and slowly tidied up the first aid kit. She didn’t want Dawn or her mom to suspect that something had been going on down here over night. She winced as the harsh kitchen light jagged at her eyes and let out an unconscious sigh of relief when Spike stretched out a long arm and flicked off the overhead spot.

He was sipping his tea, at last, and somehow she must have put a plate of brownies on the table because he was eating, humming in enjoyment and she hated it when men hummed...

It was very quiet, the kettle ticked as it cooled, the sound of Spike’s spoon stirring in his mug was soothing and you were so tired... you ached all over. Tomorrow was going to bring even more problems and it was so easy to let your head fall...fall...fall sideways because there was the shoulder she knew would always be there, and she was safe and loved and fast asleep, curled up against a vampire in her kitchen.....

 

 

tbc


	2. Pain Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling asleep with a vampire is not a good idea.

SPLINTERS

by Lilachigh

Chpt. 2 Pain Killer

 

The pain woke Joyce. She’d been restless all night, sure at one point that she could hear voices downstairs, but she’d been mistaken. Then she’d drifted off to sleep only to be jolted awake by the throbbing inside her head. She swallowed another two pain killers and sat up in bed. The comforting familiarity of her bedroom eased her mind for a while, then she caught sight of her bag, sitting ready packed in the corner and her fears came flooding back.

For all her brave words to Buffy, she knew she wasn’t well. She tried to pretend that, yes, whatever it was, they had caught it at a very early stage, so a course of treatment of some kind and she would be fine. But deep down she knew that wasn’t true. Something had invaded her brain and was growing there. She found herself smiling at a stray thought - now she could sympathise with Spike. This was what being chipped must be like. A foreign body nestling inside your head, altering the way you behave in every way.

Although the room was warm, she shivered. If it turned out to be as bad as she thought it might, what would happen to her girls? Their father would be no use at all. They would be on their own. No, that simply couldn’t happen.

She pushed her thoughts aside. She was being maudlin and silly. Hundreds of people had little problems like hers and came through completely unscathed. If only she could truly believe that Buffy and Dawn would be all right.

Dawn worried her. Sometimes - Joyce struggled with her feelings - she almost felt as if she was someone else’s child. She didn’t remind her of any of her own family and certainly non of her ex’s. But she loved her deeply. And as for Buffy - she was physically so strong but emotionally.....

Joyce threw back the bedclothes and reached for her robe. She was so thirsty. She would go downstairs and make some tea....

At the kitchen table, Spike was sitting very, very still. For two hours he hadn’t moved. Buffy was fast asleep, her head resting against his shoulder. But he could tell she was dreaming. And the little moans and cries she made showed that whatever was running through her mind wasn’t of the puppy dogs and roses variety.

His arm had developed severe cramp an hour since, but he would have cheerfully staked himself rather than wake her. He told himself righteously that was because a sleepy Slayer who wasn’t at the height of her powers was a pretty feeble enemy. Although chipped he couldn’t kill her himself, other demons and vampires might. He wasn’t letting her sleep for her sake, but theirs.

And if he bent his head just a fraction, the tousled blonde curls just touched his lips and the scent....

“Spike!” Joyce’s shocked whisper shot through him like the proverbial stake.

“Sssh,” he said without thinking or moving. “She’s asleep.”

One of the things he liked about Buffy’s mother was her ability to cope with a situation and move on. The sight of a vampire sitting at her kitchen table in the middle of the night with her eldest daughter fast asleep on his shoulder should have made her scream. Instead, Joyce walked across and sat opposite them. “Have you been here long?”

“Couple of hours, I think. Can’t see the clock on the microwave. I’ll have to move before sun up.”

“But why...?”

“Oh, don’t worry. Nothing drastic. I had, er, injuries to my fingers, - oh very slight, nothing to get excited about - but I needed a little first aid and Buffy obliged. Then she kindly made me a very nice cuppa - not as good as yours, but nice - and she sort of....fell asleep.”

“I see.”

There was a silence for a while then Joyce said, “And how have you been keeping?”

“Good, thank you.”

“When you came by last time for a chat, you mentioned a girl – ”

“Yes, I did. It’s very kind of you to remember. Her name‘s Harmony, she’s – ”

“Harmony Kendall? Oh she used to be in Buffy’s year - oh, vampire?”

Spike raised an eyebrow in reply and Joyce nodded sympathetically. ‘“Well, good. That’s nice for you. I never liked the thought of you living in that crypt on your own.”

Spike smiled and flinched as the cramp bit in his arm again.

“I’ll wake her,” Joyce said softly but he shook his head.

“Give her another minute or two.” His bright blue gaze flared across the table at her and he frowned as he sensed - smelt - something wrong. “What’s the problem, Joyce. Why is Buffy having a major wiggins tonight? She’s been kicking me around all evening, although to be fair, she did buy me some chicken wings in the Bronze.”

“Oh Spike, are you hungry? I could make you – ” Joyce half stood up, then swayed as the pain bit in her head, and sat down again.

Spike stared at her and for an instant he fought to keep his game face from breaking out. He felt a surge of white hot anger. NO! What he was thinking, sensing, could not be right, but every vampire instinct he possessed told him that this was a wounded member of the herd, something that could be cut out, run down and taken because she wasn’t right. But this was the Slayer’s mother and now he realised just why Buffy had been so upset all evening.

Joyce put he hand to her head, but said nothing. She looked across the table at Spike and he wondered, not for the first time, why she even gave him the time of day. What did she see in him that stopped her throwing him out of the house in a non heartbeat?

“Is it going to be bad?” he asked quietly.

Joyce smiled. “Bad is what Buffy faces every day of her life,” she said calmly. “I have a little headache that the hospital are going to investigate and cure. I have every faith in them, in modern medicine, in the doctors and nurses.”

Spike tensed and Buffy murmured crossly and slid down his chest until her head was pillowed in his lap. He stretched his arm in relief. “Sure. Hospitals. Great places. Love ’em to bits. Blood, blood and more blood. Sort of vampire super-markets. Fresh or frozen, take your pick - ”

“Spike – ” Joyce interrupted him “I know you and Buffy don’t see eye to eye over most things – ”

Spike frowned in what he hoped was a ferocious manner. That was the only problem with having no reflection - it was hard to practise your expressions. “Bleedin’ right there. I’m a killer. Evil. Slayer and me - mortal enemies. If it wasn’t for the chip – ”

Joyce broke in again. “Yes, yes, I’ve been sitting watching you with your mortal enemy. I’m not sure where the caring comes into the equation, but we’ll forget that for now. Spike, not that anything is going to happen to me, but just supposing - I need to know there’s someone there for my girls, a sort of guardian angel – ”

She stopped when she saw the expression on his face.

“There’s an ordinary Angel in L.A. who’d be down here like a shot, all puffed up hair and comforting words. They wouldn’t need me.” He ran his fingers through his hair until it stood up in twists and rings. “Anyway, like you say, hospitals, good places. You’ll be fine.’“

Joyce bit her lip and slowly stood up. “Don’t let’s play games, Spike. I think we both know that - Well, I’m going back to bed. I’m so very tired.” She turned in the doorway. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.’” She gave a little laugh. “I don’t know why I’m going on like this. I’m going to be fine. By this time next week, all this will seem like a silly dream. Goodnight, Spike. Wake Buffy soon. You need to go home. It’ll be sunrise in an hour.”

“Joyce!” He held up the hand that was dangerously close to smoothing the blonde curls that lay across his legs and the blue eyes gleamed. She was amazing. She trusted him, this woman who’d crashed an axe across his head when they first met. “For what it’s worth, I would do my best.”

Joyce smiled affectionately and he realised with a jolt that it was just for him. “That’s all any mother can ask for, Spike,” she murmured and turned away into the darkness that swallowed her up.

Buffy was dreaming...she was hot, her blood was pounding and she felt powerful and sexy. She growled, deep in her throat, and wriggled to get closer to her mate. She wanted him to possess her, needed him to take her, fill her, make love to her until she ached and cried with passion and need....

She was burning with desire - feeling great wanton waves crashing over her. It was so unfair, why wouldn’t he put his hands on her breasts, why wouldn’t he tear her clothes off, throw her on the floor and....oh yes,he was, he was, he was

.... but the pictures were slipping away as she began to wake up. She grumbled and moaned, trying to hold on to the sensations that were coursing through her body. She buried her face deeper in her pillow - but it seemed odd - the smooth cotton that usually smelt of lavender had changed.

Her eyes flickered open. Her hair was tossed over her head like a shawl, so all she could see were the curls close to her face and smell - denim and cigarette smoke and the faint tang of good leather.

But she was so comfortable and warm she didn’t care; she wanted to get back in her dream, because he’d just begun to touch her, to run his fingers down the front of her panties - she shut her eyes again, then they flashed wide and stayed open.

There was a row of little buttons in front of her lips, the sort a guy would have on the fly of his jeans... there was a little damp patch under her mouth, almost as if in her sleep, in her dreams, she’d been trying to lick -

ohmygod!, She froze. She was lying on a guy’s lap! She had her face buried between someone’s cold, hard - “Oh-my-god-Spike!’ she screeched, sat up and fell on the floor all in one movement! “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Spike stretched his legs out straight with a groan of pleasure. "Bugger, I’ve got cramp. What am I doing, Slayer? What do you think you’re doing, going to sleep all over me. I’d have chucked you on the floor ages ago, but your Mum came downstairs and asked me to let you sleep. I've been doing her a favour, that’s what I’ve been doing, Goldilocks!”

She couldn’t reply for a second, then flushed deeply as the remnants of her dream tore through her memory. She jumped to her feet. Okay, that was a bad dream, a really naughty dream, but of course, it had been Riley she’d been dreaming about, so okay, no problem....

But it wasn’t, her honest side insisted on saying. Riley wasn’t the guy in your dream. The guy touching you like that, making you squirm with pleasure, making you want to do things you don’t even know how to do, would never let Riley do to you was....

“Spike!”

“Yup?”

“Er...you must go. I don’t know why you’re even still here.”

“Splinters, fingers, needles, you nursey, me patient, remember.” He stood up and stretched. Buffy gulped as she watched his muscles playing against the tight T-shirt.

“Well, yes, but that’s over now. And the sun will be up soon. I want you to go. And what do you mean, my mother was downstairs?”

His words came back and bit her. “We had a little chat.” He frowned and looked at her. “Problems there, Slayer.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to shut up, that it was none of his business and that, no, there was no problem, her mother was going to be fine. Then she stopped. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear it if...”

“Never going to happen, luv. Joyce is tough. She’s a fighter. Can’t think of any little nasty that could defeat her.”

Buffy stared at him in silence. His words echoed bravely in the darkened kitchen and she tried, desperately, to believe in them. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Nothing is going to happen to Mom. I’m just having a case of bad evening blues. She tossed back her head, her blonde hair flying in disarray and turned to face him, hands on hips.

“Having to hear all your horrible life story, including details of you killing not one but two Slayers, has not made this the most enjoyable few hours of my life to date, Spike. If it wasn’t for the fact that you‘d make an ashy mess all over the kitchen floor, I’d stake you here and now and finish it.”

Spike smiled slowly and pulled on his duster. “Finish what, luv?”

“It, us, no, not us, there is no us. You and your lurking around in our lives, like some big...big....lurker!”

“As I said earlier this evening, Slayer. We’re dancing. We always will.” And he threw her a mock salute and strode out of the door into the night that was just paling into dawn.

Buffy pulled a stake from her pocket and flung it after him. It bounced against the closing door with a clatter. “We’re so not dancing!”

“Buffy!”

“Mom, what are you doing up? Are you feeling OK.?”

“I’m fine. Was that Spike you were shouting at?”

“Yes, I’m sorry if we woke you. I should have kicked him out hours ago, but I sort of fell asleep. I wasn’t that tired. I think he might have put something in my drink at the Bronze. He‘s evil like that.”

Joyce looked concerned and sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh. Her pain was back inside her head, pounding, angry, malevolent pain. “Why do you hate him so much, Buffy?”

‘Mum - Spike, vampire, evil, deadly thing. Remember? Guy with platinum bleached hair, stupid coat and boots. “

Joyce said nothing and watched as Buffy busied herself with washing up Spike’s mug.

“Right, I’m off to bed. Can I get you anything, before I go up?”

Joyce smiled. “No, I’m good. I’m just going to sit on the porch and watch the sun rise.”  
She walked outside and sat down carefully. The edge of the step felt rough and jagged. She didn’t want to get a splinter.

The sky was changing fast now. The pale grey was turning to primrose and a darker apricot glow showed where the sun was coming. She sighed. She loved it here in Sunnydale, even with all it’s problems. She loved her daughters, her job, her life. She didn’t know what her future was going to be, indeed, Joyce thought wryly, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a future! And if she didn’t, then Buffy and Dawn were going to need someone in their lives to be there for them and what were their options?

Their father? Joyce dismissed him immediately. Hank was weak. He’d left, saying that he didn’t love her any more, but she knew that the plain truth was he couldn’t cope with a daughter who was so difficult, so frighteningly strong. Oh, he loved Buffy, but was more than happy to do so from a distance.

Buffy’s friends would rally round, but Joyce knew instinctively that they needed Buffy to be strong for them. They would be sympathetic and try desperately hard for a week or two, but then they would want her to take charge again.

Rupert? Joyce smiled a little secret smile. Rupert Giles was strong enough, but there were no guarantees that he would be around for ever now that Buffy was grown up.

Angel? She frowned. She’d never liked Angel. He’d broken her daughter’s heart and when the going had got too tough, he’d done just that. Gone.

Riley? A nice boy, a good boy, he loved Buffy, that was true. But for all the soldier action and muscles, he was still at heart the sort of man who needed to come first with his woman, who needed her attention one hundred and twenty per cent of the time. And Joyce knew Buffy could never give him that.

And that left - Joyce felt her headache lift a little. Someone who thought he hated, but loved. Someone who tried not to care but did. Someone who would never, ever walk away, not matter how hard it got to stay. A thin, blond man with bright blue eyes. A man, she suddenly realised, she was glad to know.

 

tbc


	3. At my Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime in Forever. Buffy's men never come through for her in the long run. Except one.

Splinters by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 3. At My Side

 

He went. I knew he would. Seconds after I’d said, "How about forever. Is forever good for you?" it was all big hugs and moody, dark-eyed goodbyes and promises to phone. Then he’d gone. Too much emotion for him to cope with.

I suppose I should be grateful that he came at all. I was feeling numb. I think I’ve forgotten how to cry. How can Mom be dead? That question still runs through my brain all the time, over and over again, on a continual loop.

The funeral seemed to be for someone else, some stranger I’d liked but hadn’t known very well. I’ve been to lots like that, haven’t we all? I’d wear something smart and dark but stylish that I’d bought the day before at the mall, I’d take flowers - pretty white ones because they go with the black outfit; I’d be sympathetic to the relatives, hope I sounded sincere, then I’d go home, ring Willow or Xander and after the first few sentences about how sad it was, how dreadful, we’d begin to talk about something else and I’d almost forget that somewhere there was a family who were in terrible pain.

But this funeral was for my mom.

Seeing Angel at least helped - for a while. But even as he was saying all the right things, being sympathetic, I knew he’d go. His comfort was nice, but fleeting. I knew that at any second, his arm would be taken away, and there’d be no one there to lean on. No one at all.

I haven’t been able to reach Dad. The phone rang and rang. Would he have cared if I had got through? Would he have dropped everything and come to be with us, to say goodbye to the woman he’d once loved? Yes, probably he would because that would have been the right thing to do and Dad likes to look a nice guy to his friends and business colleagues. But he wouldn’t have stayed. Oh no, he’d have been away on the first available plane, probably telling me to forgive him, that it was all too hard to bear.

But I’ve got to bear it, haven’t I? I look at the anguish in Dawn’s face and know that I’ve got to carry my grief and hers. If I’ve heard those words once, I’ve heard them a thousand times in the last few days. They make me want to scream. "You’ve got to be strong, Buffy. We know you can cope. Joyce would expect you to cope, for her sake."

I’d like to run away, to Los Angeles, to Spain, to somewhere, anywhere, that isn’t here. How can I go on alone? I’m not grown up. I still feel like a little girl, I want her back...I want her back....I want my Mom back...

But after Angel left, as I stood there, suddenly Spike was standing by my side. I always forget how fast and silently he can move. "So he’s gone," he said flatly.

I didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. "Yes." My throat was so sore that the words came out harsh and ragged.

"Great help that was, then."

I stood silently, waiting for those dreadful words of sympathy that cut to the bone every time. People only say them once, but you have to hear them over and over again. They don’t realise the damage they are doing, how hard it is to hold everything together when you are being told over and over again how nice she was, what a good friend, colleague, person. I don’t care about how good she was! That doesn’t help. I just want her here.

But Spike didn’t speak. I glanced at him. I couldn’t say he looked paler than normal, that would hardly be possible, I suppose. But he looked - well, strangely he looked like I did this morning when I caught sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Distraught.

He reached out and took hold of my hand and I let him. He curled his fingers round mine and they felt hard and cold. I squeezed them as hard as I could, letting all my emotions flow down my arm into him, safe in the knowledge that he could take it. I leant against his shoulder, feeling the black leather crackle under my weight and for a few wonderful seconds, I could feel the burden shift from me. And I remembered something Mom had said recently when I’d been moaning to her about Spike for some reason.

She’d smiled gravely at me and said, as if it was the greatest comfort to her, "He might be your enemy, Buffy, but I know one thing for certain - when it counts, when it really matters, he’ll always be there. And he’ll never, ever leave you."

And time splinters and slips away, weeks, months, years until.......

 

“I think you’ve taught me everything I need to know!” Buffy shut her bedroom door in Giles’ face and leant against it, wondering if her legs were going to hold her. She couldn’t stop trembling; couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

Giles and Robin - conspiring to kill Spike! Okay, Robin, she could see why. A souless, unchipped Spike had killed his mother all those years ago. He couldn’t see past that to the Spike of today. Couldn’t understand that it wasn’t the same person under the black leather - which, being his mother’s coat, really didn’t help.

But Giles? She felt nausea swell up at the back of her throat. Giles knew how important Spike was. In the battle against the First, he was her strongest warrior. And he knew more than that. He knew she thought the vampire could be a good man, knew that the connection between them was still there, strong and valuable to her.

How could he have done that to her? She felt bereft, abandoned. She sank down on the bed, staring unseeing round her room. What was it about her as a person that made men treat her in this way? Her father, Parker, Angel, Riley, now Giles whom she thought would have cut off his arm rather than toss her feelings aside like this.

“Their feelings always come first,” she murmured out loud. “Whatever they say about loving or caring for me, at the end of the day, they believe that they’re right and I’m wrong. They always think they know best. Worse - they know they know best!”

Suddenly she needed so badly to talk to her mother. Even if Joyce hadn’t understood about Spike, even if she’d disapproved with every bone in her body, she would still have been on Buffy’s side one hundred and ten percent.

Buffy clutched at her stomach as a pain of longing shot through her. Oh god how she missed her. Her touch, the smell of her perfume when she kissed you, the softness of her cheek, the sparkle in her eyes when she’d had a good day at work. Her voice - praising, laughing, scolding, supporting, loving.

And most of all her hands; Buffy could see them so clearly: soothing, cooking, ironing, gardening, brushing her hair, tickling Dawn, tying up Christmas presents, decorating eggs at Easter. Pretty, hard working hands. She stared down at her own. They didn’t look like Joyce’s. Too rough, nails too short. They’d been scrubbed of blood too many times recently.

The burden of being the Slayer sometimes came bounding up out of the dark and draped itself round her shoulders like some dreadful iron cape. If her mother had been here, she would have lifted it off - if only for a little while. if she’d been here....

Running! Down the stairs, out of the door, into the dark Sunnydale night. The town flashed past her, the air cool on her face as she sped on. There was the gate, grassy paths, up a slope to where they’d lain her to rest looking out over the town, keeping a watchful eye on all of them, as Xander had said, his voice thick with tears.

And she was no longer alone. Strangely she wasn’t surprised to find him at the graveside, kneeling, the black coat spread around him like a carpet of grief. His hands were buried in the thick grass and he was staring, motionless at the headstone.

Buffy knelt down beside him.

“Heard you coming a mile away! Should have left. Sorry, Slayer. I expect you want to be on your own.”

“No. Stay. Please.”

They were silent for a few minutes, then Spike said, “Funny how much I liked your mum, pet. She was special. I needed to talk to her tonight. Tell her....Ask her.... Woods brought it all back to me with that song - my mother, how ill she was, turning her, killing her. Not good.” He laughed - it wasn’t a happy sound. “She loved me, though. That’s as clear in my mind as if it was yesterday. As Joyce loved you and Dawn.”

Buffy reached out a hand and curled her fingers into his. She felt him flinch, as if he was going to pull away, then his grasp tightened and she remembered when he’d come to find her at this same grave just after her mother had been buried.

Everyone had wanted her to be strong - for their sakes. She hadn’t been allowed to grieve properly; she’d had to be calm and in control, especially for Dawn. Admittedly Angel had come after the funeral, but he’d gone again when her emotions had spilled over. Her father hadn’t appeared at all. And Giles had been in England. She’d needed someone to lean on, and, strangely, Spike had been there. As he was tonight.

“It helps to know that,” Buffy said at last. “But I still miss her dreadfully. So much it hurts. And tonight - Giles - you - he was deliberately distracting me, Spike. He’d planned it all with Robin. How could he do that to me? I thought he - ”

“Loved you?”

Buffy gave their linked hands a shake. “No, of course not, that’s the wrong word. But I did think he cared for me - a little, you know.”

Spike sighed. “He does, Buffy. In his stiff-upper-lipped, English way, Rupert cares for you a lot.”

“Then why did he act like that? Mom would never have gone behind my back. She would have trusted me - especially where you’re concerned.”

Spike turned to look at her, his eyes a tender silver-blue in the moonlight, his hair bleached to white. He swung round and sat cross-legged, facing her, his hand still tightly grasping hers. He had his own private thoughts about Rupert Giles and his feelings towards Buffy. He could sense the bitterness in the older man; the never resolved conflict of Angelus who’d killed the woman he loved, Jenny Calendar.

Buffy was the daughter he’d never had, but it was that daughter’s vampire boy friend who killed Jenny. Perhaps Giles could never trust another vampire not to do the same amount of damage, given a chance. Maybe in killing Spike he was exacting a sort of revenge on Angel.

“I’ve never understood why Joyce didn’t throw me out of the house every time I turned up. She had no trouble hitting me on the head when we first met. Remember?”

‘Nobody lays a hand on my little girl?”

He smiled at the memory. “She was such a brave lady. I loved my mother, but I can’t see her wielding an axe in my defence!”

Buffy found she was rubbing her thumb over the cool skin of his palm. She stopped alarmed that she could fall back into this possessive owning of his body so easily. “Mom always liked you,” she said slowly. “She said....”

Spike looked up sharply. “Yes?”

"She once told me - ‘he might be your enemy, but one thing I know for certain - when it really matters, he’ll always be there. And he’ll never, ever leave you’. Yes, she liked you, Spike. Perhaps - ” she hesitated, then went on, "Perhaps she saw the good man you could become, even before I did. Even before you knew yourself.”

Spike closed his eyes and lifted his face towards the heavens. As Buffy watched, some of the tension drained away and he looked younger, boyish.

"Oh Joyce, you were so right," he said at last. "I told her once, I would do my best to look out for her girls. And see, I’m still here, Buffy. Through good and bad, and let’s not pull any punches - there’s been plenty of bad - I won’t leave you. Ever!"

"Promise?"

Spike jumped to his feet and pulled her up to stand next to him. He held up his hand and ticked off five words against his fingers with a reminiscent grin - "You - have - my - word - pet!"

Buffy found she was smiling and hand in hand they walked away from the grave, back towards town, back towards the First and the battle they knew would come only too soon.

tbc


	4. Double Dead

Splinters by Lilachigh

Chapter 4

 

Funny what you remember when you’re double dead, Spike thought dreamily. Flames that tickle, light that burns into the heart of you, searching for a soul to set free.

Other things - Buffy’s fingers curling round his, the sheen on the Little Bit’s hair when she brushed it; the affection in Joyce’s eyes, Xander’s laugh, Giles turning into a demon, Andrew’s dog like devotion - further back, Dru and a hundred years of bloody mayhem, dangerous Darla, a brooding great Mick who wouldn’t now be needed to fight a second front and -

“Why the sodding heck aren’t I in Hell?” Spike pulled himself out of his dreams. It was misty, he was walking but couldn’t see his feet, or his legs or anything come to that. He was drifting through a fog; damp like the ones in Victorian London he could just recall, but at least this one didn’t make you cough.

He’d been expecting Hell to be, well, flames and brimstone and great pits, he supposed. He appreciated that his ideas were probably a bit story bookish, but he’d been educated as a staunch member of the Church of England until the day he’d met Dru. She and Liam had both been Catholic, of course, so their ideas of Hell were even more entrenched than his. He wondered vaguely what religion Darla had been. Not a Quaker, that was for sure, although he remembered her feeding off a whole congregation of them once.

Anyway, no flames, not devils with pitchforks, just this bloody cold mist and, god it was boring! Had he died just to plod along like this for ever? Was this what Hell was.

“I reckon I’d prefer the molten lava and endless torture. Least see a bit of action. Bloke could go barmy wading through this for all eternity.”

“Honestly, Spike, do stop whinging. You’re not the only one who died today, you know. And some of us weren’t ready to go.“

“Anya?”

“Yes, of course it’s me. Who else sounds like me? If it’s my voice, it must be me. I mean, it isn’t going to be Jennifer Lopez or the President’s wife, or - ”

“I can’t see you. When did you - what happened - God, I’m sorry!”

“I went just before you made the Hellmouth explode. Swish, right through me with a long, pointy sword thing. I suppose, if I was being picky, I could say that it would have been extremely useful if you’d done your amulet trick ten minutes earlier, then I would be on the bus on the way to Cleveland with Xander, rather than here with you.”

“Sorry. Hard to please everyone all of the time.”

A long suffering sigh was his answer. “No need to be sarcastic, Spike. My dying can’t be helped, I suppose. I fought as well as I could. I hope Xander is upset and grieving, but I’m sure it won’t be for long. Did you see the way that little red-headed would be Slayer was looking at him, yesterday? I’m not quite sure why she couldn’t have died instead of me. ”

“Who else - oh god, did Buffy - ? Dawn ?’

“Oh, they’re fine. On the bus, too. Lots died, but they’ve gone ahead. I had to wait around for you, which, believe me Spike, isn’t how I’d planned on spending my first day dead.“

Spike felt he was reaching out a hand towards her, but there was nothing but mist. “Where are we going?“

“Not far. You know what it’s like - you get the mystical instructions, the plan, the route, but never a proper explanation. I can’t even begin to reckon how much it all costs. The amount of administration involved is – “

“Anya, my little vengeance demon, is this Hell?”

“What? No, of course it isn’t. Why should I be consigned to Hell? I’ve become a very useful member of the democratic consumer society. I know all the words of all the verses of the national anthem. And just because I decided to revert to being a demon for a while, there is no need for those in authority to be touchy. You probably deserve to be in Hell, Spike, but I suppose because you’ve just saved the world, etc. etc. you’ve been given a sort of time out.“

Spike growled. Bleeding bloody bollocks, she could talk the hind leg off a donkey. Didn’t know how Long John Xander had put up with it all these years. “Time out for what?“

There was no reply. “Anya. Anya! I’m sorry. Come back. Anya!’“ He stood still and flailed around in the mist, but there was no one there. Just complete silence and a soft cloying whiteness that clung to a face he knew no longer existed.

For a minute he panicked. He was totally and utterly alone. The guy who liked people, his happy meals on legs, loved the buzz, the excitement of things going on all the time was now alone. This was his punishment, of course. No Hell, no flames, just being alone with no sound, no voices, no one in the entire world but him for ever....

OK. He shuddered and stopped flailing. He’d never grovelled to anyone either in his first life or his second. And he certainly wasn’t going to now. He would walk on. If this was his Hell, then so be it. At least the world was safe. And his girl would live a different life, a good life. He loved her so much and had given her what no one else could.

“They know that.” A gentle voice, like morning honey on soft white bread. A voice he hadn’t heard for a long time, but one he always remembered with warm affection.

“Tara?”

“Spike.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They know that, too. Anya has brought you as far as she can. I have to take you a little further.“

“Are you OK? We all miss you. What happened - I was away at the time. Don’t know if you know. I’d have gutted Warren and strangled him with his own entrails if I’d been in Sunnydale. Although Red did well in the end, although I suppose it wasn’t right for her to try and end the world as well.”

He thought he could hear Tara giggle, but decided it must be a ringing in his ears from the explosion at the Hellmouth.

“I think you’re supposed to be thinking good thoughts, Spike, not talking about entrails and strangling.“

“Oh, sorry! But hey, vampire here, can’t think that a few good thoughts now are going to outweigh a lifetime of murder and mayhem.”

“You were in Africa getting your soul when I died, weren’t you?”

“Oh, you do know about that, then?”

“Why did you think you needed one, Spike?” Tara’s voice was as gentle as ever but, he realised, the stammer had gone.

“Well - always a nice thing to have, luv. And Peaches has one, so why shouldn’t I?“

“Warren had a soul.”

Spike batted again at the mist. If only he could see her face. If only he could see something instead of sodding white cotton wool! “Oh god, he’s not around, too, is he? I don’t think I can be trusted not to kill him all over again. Are you saying it was all a waste of time? That it doesn’t matter if you have a soul or not?”

“No, Spike. I just feel that a soul gives you a conscience, but you had one of those before. And you didn’t go and fight for one just because of Angel . Let’s face it, no one is that petty and over eight years old.”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow in her general direction, glad suddenly that she couldn’t see him. Tara’s belief in the general goodness of people was alarming. Even getting shot didn’t seem to have dented that at all.

That was weird in itself. Did that mean that when you died, you just went on the same person as you were before, making the same judgments and the same mistakes about people. Bloody hell, did that mean he was going to have to meet all the people he’d killed over all these years and have long, meaningful conversations with them?

“They’ll need a sodding great football stadium to put them in if I do,” he muttered.

Spike knew quite well why he’d gone seeking his soul. The reason was a small, slim, brave woman back in Sunnydale. His grandsire thought he’d done it just so he could go on having sex with her. Spike knew he was wrong. He’d done it out of love.

“So - you were sent to meet me?” he asked into the mist. “Why you, pet, if you don’t mind me knowing?”

“You need a guide. I thought a friend would make the journey less - painful.”

‘Well, you’re certainly less annoying than Miss Ex Vengeance Demon,”’ he said dryly.  
“How long is the journey? Where are we going?”

“Time doesn’t have much meaning here, Spike. I look down at Willow and feel it is only yesterday we were together, but she has moved on now. And I’m sort of glad.”

“Only sort of?”

“I’m not an angel, Spike. I want her to be happy, but I don’t like - ’

‘Kennedy?”

“She’s very brave.”

Spike yawned. He felt he’d been walking for hours and no offence meant, but the whys and wherefores of lesbian lovers weren’t at the foremost of his thoughts at this precise moment. “So, I’m going to a meeting,” he broke in at last as Tara was listing all the things about Kennedy that made her right for the witch.

“Two people need to see you, urgently - before - before - ”

Spike groaned. “Before I go down to Hell, is that it? Okay, bring them on.” And he clenched fists he couldn’t see and felt his face change as his fangs lengthened. Whatever was about to happen, he’d go down fighting to the very end.

Two women stood unobserved, watching as Spike walked through the mist towards them. “William the Bloody, saviour of the world - it’s hard to believe,” said the younger one.

The older woman smiled gently. “I’m not that surprised. I always knew he was - reliable.”

“That’s not a word I’ve heard associated with Spike before. He’ll never do what you want, you know. He’s died twice now - why should he make it three times?”

Her companion smiled gently. ‘“For love, perhaps?”

“Love! That’s a very tricky emotion to control.”

“You died for love.”

“If I’d known how things were going to work out, I would have stayed alive somehow.”

“He’s nearly here. All we can do is explain the options to him. Yours or mine. It’s up to Spike to choose.”

The young woman frowned. “He’ll take the easy route. I know him too well.”

“Perhaps. We’ll see.”……..

Spike was aware that Tara had vanished some time ago. Faded away into the mists that had brought her. He walked on. She’d said he was going to a meeting. Great! First day dead and they had him at a sodding conference. He’d always suspected that the Powers that Be were all a load of wanking bureaucrats.

He reckoned there’d be forms and lists and probably some sort of test. He sighed. The last test had been when he’d gone to Africa to get his soul and he didn’t know whether he was quite up to another one of those right now. He wondered why he felt so weary. Surely being dead, not having an actual body that he could see, should have left him free of all those feelings? God he could do with a drink. “Bet they don’t do a decent Scotch in limbo or hell, or wherever I bleeding well am!” he muttered.

“Your demise certainly hasn’t improved your language, Spike. I hope you haven’t been using words like that around Dawn.”

Spike skidded to a halt, scuffing up great clouds of mist in all directions. “Joyce?”

A light gleamed in the clouds and they thinned to allow Joyce Summers to be there, smiling at him. “Good to see you again, Spike. But I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

“Joyce! Oh, this is great.... I never thought, never imagined – Joyce”! He reached out, then dropped the hands he couldn’t see, only feel, as he realised she wasn’t there for him to touch.

He laughed, properly, for the first time in months, joyous and young. “Whatever happens now, this is a plus. Hey, hang on, there’s no way you’re not in Heaven. No way! And I know I’m not. So what the heck’s going on?”

Joyce smiled gravely. “You should be - elsewhere - Spike, that’s true. But you saved the world. All those millions and millions of people are alive because of you.”

Spike pulled a face. ‘Hey, your daughter played a big part in all that, Joyce. You should have seen her, marvellous she was - dirty great scythe thingy, slash and bash and - oh - reckon you did see it.”

“I never ever doubted Buffy’s ability and with you at her side, Spike, well, let’s just say I wasn’t too worried. I’ve always trusted her with you.”

Spike was silent for a long moment. “So, this meeting is what - my reward before I toddle off to somewhere a little hotter? How long do we get to chat?”

“You always were such an impatient boy, William.”

Spike took a step backwards and felt his game face flash out for a second on a face that he no longer had. That voice was imprinted on primeval memory banks that were buried deep inside his invisible brain. The voice of the woman who held the key to his very existence as a vampire. Sire of the sire of his sire. Blonde and beautiful, deadly, dangerous, cruel and pitiless. Darla.

“You might look just a little pleased to see me, William.”

Spike looked from one woman to the other, puzzled and alert. Joyce and Darla. As weird combinations went, this one travelled miles. “I don’t think pleased is the right word.”

Darla pouted. “Now, now, William, be a good boy and play nicely with me and Mrs Summers.”

Spike gazed around, peering into the mist. “Is this the end of the Friends Reunited day? Don’t tell me you’ve got Dru and Peaches tucked away up here now as well?”

Darla shook her blonde head and smiled. “No, just us two.”

“We’re here to offer you a choice,” Joyce said softly.

Spike groaned. “Why is there always a sodding choice when anything mystical or magical is concerned? Why couldn’t it be - just for once - straightforward?”

“We don’t question,” Darla snapped. “Be quiet and listen.” She rolled her eyes at Joyce. “He used to drive me to despair when the four of us were travelling together. Chat, chat, chat. Natter, natter, natter. Angel and I could always hear him - whatever we were doing!”

Joyce nodded. “I must admit I did notice that tendency myself. He’d call round for hot chocolate and we’d talk for hours about TV programmes and rock music and – “

“When you two ladies have quite finished dissecting my character, can we get back to the choices bit?”

Joyce stood next to Darla and, together, they each opened a portal in the mist. Spike gasped. There, next to Joyce, he could see a school bus, driving along an empty road. Now the picture changed, and there were Buffy and Dawn, sitting with their arms round each other. Not speaking, not crying, just living, moving on.

“She looks - tired,” Spike said hoarsely, fighting back a stupid desire to cry.

“She is,” Joyce replied. “And she doesn’t know what lies ahead.”

“Not more trouble!”

Joyce didn’t reply. Darla beckoned him over and he stared down through the portal she’d made. And there was Angel, his grandsire, her ex lover. Sitting in a chair in front of a desk littered with papers. But he wasn’t reading; he was gazing into space, his dark eyes troubled and heavy.

Spike winced. “Peaches is brooding something wicked down there. What’s up with him?’”

“They both need your help, Spike,’ Joyce said. ‘That is the choice you have to make. We can send you back, I to Buffy, Darla to Angel - but only to one of them.’

Spike felt a thrill run through him. He could go back! See her again. Touch her again. Love her - find out if what she’d said to him as he burnt to his death had any truth in it at all. But - there was an irritating question in his head that wouldn’t go away. ‘You never told me why Liam is sitting looking like a lemon that’s just been squeezed?’

Darla shrugged. ‘I can’t, William. You’ll only discover that if you go back to him.’

‘He’s never needed me before.’

Darla looked at him gravely. ‘There are all sorts of need. He has friends, good ones, but at the end of the day, he is alone. And if you don’t go - ’ She stopped, scared of saying too much.

Spike fought against the hesitation that was threatening to ruin his happiness. He had a chance to go back to Buffy. No one could ask him to give that up. He’d saved the world, for heaven’s sake. Didn’t that deserve some little prize? He stared down through the two portals. Buffy had been joined by Willow and Faith now. They were smiling, talking.

And Angel was still sitting, gazing in horror at thoughts Spike couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Then, suddenly, he knew. There was no choice. He’d given up his life so that Buffy could live, could become as near to an ordinary girl as possible.

Did she still love Angel? He didn’t know. But in case she did, this would be his final gift of love to her. If Angel needed his help, even if he never asked for it, for Buffy’s sake, Spike knew he had to give it. If he let Angel die, then he would hurt Buffy so much it was unthinkable.

He turned to look at Joyce, to explain, to apologise. But there was no need. She was smiling, her face radiant and he knew she understood and that he’d finally made the right decision.

to be continued.

 

 

 

 

“

 

 

‘


	5. Heaven can Wait

Splinters by Lilachigh

 

Chp Heaven can wait

 

Spike surfaced from a sea of pain for a few seconds, plunged back in, fought again and heard a moan that he was ashamed of because he knew it was his voice and he sounded like some pitiful wanker with no guts.

He tried to open his eyes and couldn’t. A wave of panic swept over him. Oh god, he was blind! Something had sealed his lids shut. And the pain came back, like a giant wave and he went under again.

Days, hours, minutes later – he didn’t know. If he accepted the pain, he knew he was still alive….but perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps the inevitable had happened and he was in Hell.

He had a vague memory of fighting, of jumping on the back of a dragon that was trying to eat his grandsire, fanging the scales on its neck, trying to find a softer piece of skin to tear because saving Angel was important, important to her - Then – here he was, blind and trying to stop himself screaming in agony. So, yes, Hell. He shouldn’t really feel surprised. He’d always known this was what lay ahead for him.

He wondered if Liam had survived. He doubted it – he didn’t see how anyone could have walked away from that battle. A shame. He’d wanted him to live. That had been the whole point of choosing to help him rather than return to the girl he loved. In case she would have been happier with Angel.

He fought against the agony and tried to remember her smile, the green of her eyes, the feel of her body under his. No matter what pain he was in, so far his memory was in tact. So, a plus. Wondered if she’d ever known he was alive, if she’d understood why he hadn’t contacted her. Well, it was all irrelevant now. He and Angel would never know which of them the Shanshu referred to. The world had ended, chaos, death and destruction were ruling and he had little doubt that his girl would have been fighting the same sort of battle in Europe. He didn’t imagine that the horrors he’d seen were going to respect oceans or borders.

So all gone, his love, Dawn, Red, Xander, Angel and the L.A crowd.

The darkness seemed less harsh now, softer, like velvet wrapping round him. The pain had faded a little and he felt he was floating, resting, a second’s peace before retribution began again….

“I knew you would take the easy way out!”

Oh God, there was that voice again. Darla had followed him to Hell. Or, more likely, she was already there, waiting or him.

“I told Joyce, but she wouldn’t believe me. Said you’d come through. As if!”

“Sod off, Darla.” To his surprise, he still had a voice. Well, yeah, how could they make you scream if you couldn’t speak? “I chose. I gave up Buffy. I tried to help Angel. I failed. Sorry. What are you going to do about it? Kill me? Too late, pet. Can’t I just get on with the Hell bit?”

“Do you think you’ve paid for all the lives you took before?”

Spike found he could still feel strong emotion, which was weird. Anger flooded through him. “Oh you’re really the right person to talk about taking lives, aren’t you? Wouldn’t be in this soddin’ mess if it wasn’t for you siring Peaches in the first place. Why couldn’t you just have left him to die of syphilis or liver failure or some other rotten disease?”

“He’s dead.”

The words dropped like stones into the darkness and Spike tensed. Even through the agony that surrounded him, he could sense the anguish in her voice. But he refused to give her any sympathy. That had always been like rattling the bars on a lion’s cage.

“Buffy? Dawnie?”

There was a long silence. “Outside my knowledge, dear boy.”

“They’ll have gone straight to heaven,” Spike said with as much force as he could. “She’s been there once. She liked it. She’ll be fine. Right, let’s get started. I take it, I have to go with you, somewhere hotter than here!”

Darla’s laugh could have cut a diamond. “Not until you break your ties with this world, Spike. You’re still tethered to humanity in your mind. I know how difficult it is to let go, but that’s what you’ve got to do. Say your goodbyes, banish your thoughts and move on.”

Spike fought another wave of pain that coursed through his body. How easy it would be to let go and slip into the dark. The temptation was overwhelming. Buffy had gone, the world he enjoyed so much had gone, over-run by demons and monsters and things so horrific he didn’t even have words to describe them.

But buried inside what remained of his brain, a little worm of curiosity stirred and raised its head. Why wasn’t he ashes? If he’d died in the battle, he should have vanished. He’d thought the pain he was feeling meant he was already in Hell, but Darla made it sound as if he still had a body.

No, it was too confusing. He was so tired and the pain was bad. All he knew was that he refused to give up his dreams of Buffy. He refused to say goodbye for good.

Buffy Summers was floating, too. But she was warm and loved, wrapped in creamy velvet mist. She was sad that she’d fought and lost. Sad that so many had died and she’d failed to save the world this time. But she’d done her very best and now she could be at peace. The man she’d loved so passionately had died to save the world. Now she’d done the same. It gave her a feeling of completion in a funny way.

“Buffy!”

“Angel!” As she spoke the name, the mist cleared around her and she was standing in a bright, white space with a light that hurt her eyes burning all around. There was a dark shape coming towards her. She couldn’t see him clearly, but knew. Her first love.

“You didn’t survive,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. Looks like we all failed. An apocalypse too many, huh?“

“We’ll be OK, Buffy. We tried. We can move on now. Leave the world to the Hell creatures.”

“Yes, moving on already. Will we all meet up like this, do you reckon? Because I’m having a really bad hair day and Mom will have a fit when she sees what I’m wearing.”

“I don’t know. I’m out of the loop where the Powers that Be are concerned.”

She reached out a hand, but there was nothing to touch. But then, she thought wryly, there had been nothing to touch where Angel was concerned for a very long time.

“Wish I could see what happened to everyone. See what‘s happening back in the world,” she whispered. “I know I’m like dead and all, but you’d think I’d be allowed just a quick peek.”

“I think you have to let go, Buffy. Break your ties with the world.” The dark, weary voice that had once haunted her dreams had a persuasive note in it now.

“Oh, I agree. Letting go all the time. But Dawnie was in England with Giles when it went down. I just wondered how – well, you know. ” She turned from him and found herself sinking back into the mist. Letting go – seemed strange, but peaceful.

The dark shape that had once been her lover was moving away and she didn’t care. Only the memories of one man could still touch her heart. Even though he’d never wanted to see her again when he returned from the dead. That had hurt so much that she’d stopped all feeling, all emotion. She couldn’t even find the words to ask Angel how Spike had died this time round. She didn’t want to think of him in Los Angeles, away from her. She wanted to remember them together, laughing, fighting, dancing. She hugged those memories to her and began to concentrate on banishing the world from her mind.

“Spike wanted to know about Dawn, too,” came a casual murmur from the departing figure.

“He would – he always - !” With a massive effort, she stopped herself sliding deeper into the mist. Something wasn’t right, she must have misheard, but Heaven could wait a second or two until – “Spike’s alive?”

“No, of course not. He’s – well – he’s - look, forget I said anything.”

“If he’s dead, why can’t he come and see me instead of you? Oh no, I forgot. ‘Mr I will always love you’, couldn’t even be bothered to contact me once he was back with you and your friends!”

“Buffy, stop fretting about Spike. Let it go. Your anger is holding you here on this plane of consciousness. You’ve both got to let go before you can move on. Neither of you can save the world. It’s not worth trying.”

Buffy pushed against the mist and with a blink she was back in the room with the white light. Angel was gone but she had the strangest feeling that she wasn’t alone.

“I don’t know who you are, but I’m not moving until I know what’s going on. How could I save the world now? I’m all dead.”

Suddenly she felt a hand stroking her tangled hair, smoothing out the knots with a gentle touch. Buffy smiled joyously. Only one person had ever stroked her head in that way. “Mom!”

“Buffy.”

“Mom, oh Mom, I can’t see you. I don’t understand.”

“Spike won’t let go, Buffy. He’s holding you both to the world. I always thought he would.”

“But we’re dead! Jeez, how many times do I have to say that?”

“Not quite. Great warriors always find it difficult to pass through to the other side, especially when their work hasn’t been completed. Oh I want you with me, sweetheart. I’ve waited a long time. I thought this was the end of the world as we knew it. And it’s such a little chance, there’s no way you - ”

“A chance to save the world? Mom, the world has vanished. Humanity has gone. My time as Slayer is over. All the Slayers have gone, their Watchers, too.”

Joyce laughed softly and Buffy stared desperately into the blinding light, trying to make out her mother’s features. “I was told to offer Spike a choice a few months ago and he made the right one. Now I’m being told to do the same to you. Perhaps it’s only fair.”

The light faded in front of Buffy and suddenly she was standing on top of a rocky mountain top. A cold wind was blowing her hair and the air was chill and smelt of snow. Bleak and barren rocks cascaded down the precipice to her left but on her right hand side, a path ran down hill, zigzagging until it reached a green field with trees and flowers and a silver stream.

As Buffy stared, she saw her mother and father, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Giles – so many people she loved sitting on the grass, laughing up at her and waving. They looked so pleased to see her and she knew that as soon as she reached them, everything would be right. They would stand up and hug her and together they would walk on, following the stream into the lavender distance.

Eagerly, she took a step down the path, then some instinct made her hesitate; she turned and looked down the precipice to her left. There, stretched out on a jagged rocky outcrop lay the man she loved. She could see a mask of blood across his face, knew from the way his limbs were angled that the bones were broken.

In that moment she knew. That way lay pain and heartache, trials and tribulations that she couldn’t even imagine. She would be giving up Heaven, her friends and her family, perhaps for ever.

And without another thought, she leapt over the edge and went sliding and slipping towards her destiny.

 

Epilogue  
His head was pillowed on something warm and yielding – if he hadn’t known for a fact that he was completely round the twist, he’d have said it was Buffy’s lap. His memory wasn’t that bad. Some things you never forgot. The smell of the Slayer’s thighs was one of those.

Spike coughed and felt blood coat his lips. Sodding broken ribs. Did going to Hell mean your smashed bones never healed? Something gently wiped the gore away from his mouth and he could hear a voice muttering above his head. The ringing in his ears from the pain he was suffering distorted the words, but he could have sworn they were “Stupid vamp! Getting hurt so bad. Can’t trust you out of my sight.”

Oh God, he really was going batty! This was no joke. He could have sworn that was his girl’s voice. But he knew she was long gone. In Heaven by now, warm and happy and finished, along with her mum and Dawnie, Red and probably the whelp as well. He’d tag along no matter where the others went.

“Spike! Spike! Try opening your eyes. Stay with me. Don’t you dare die!”

He tried to force his eyelids apart, but the dried blood held them fast. He heard a gasp, then to his amazement, what felt like a small warm tongue began to lick the blood away from his lashes, cleaning his face like a mother cat and a recalcitrant kitten.

At last he forced his lids apart and there, inches away, was the face that had haunted his every waking and sleeping moment for years. Buffy Summers.

“Thought you could avoid me by dying, did you?” she snapped but the sarcastic tone of her voice was spoilt by the tears that ran down her face and dripped onto his.

Moisture ran into his mouth and he swallowed her tears as eagerly as if they were pure cold water. “Why aren’t you in Heaven?” he managed to force out between cracked lips.

Buffy shrugged and tenderly stroked the matted blond hair back off his forehead. “Was on my way. It looked great. Pretty. Happy. Everyone’s there – waiting for me.”

Spike shifted slightly and slowly raised a hand to touch her face. “Waiting for you, eh? Bloody hell, pet, why doesn’t that surprise me? The Scoobies never go anywhere on their own. What do they want you to do – guide them through the pearly gates?”

“At least they’re all in Heaven. You, on the other hand – ”

“Thought I was in Hell. Should be. Darla wanted me to let go of the world – or what’s left of it - and go with her to – ”

“That ho! Angel or maybe it was his ghost, was wittering on as well about letting go.”

There was a long pause, then, “Oh, so Liam’s dead.” Spike sighed. “Thought he would be. Big dragon! Tried to kill it, but couldn’t. You still haven’t told me why you’re here and not there.”

Buffy twined her fingers with his and a tiny yellow flame began to flicker between them. “Oh, it was one of those choicey things. You know, A -here’s an eternity of happiness with your friends and family, and oh look, here’s B - a painful terrifying time attempting to save the world with the man you love at your side. Your time starts now. No conferring. Tick one box only.”

“The man you – “ Broken ribs or not, Spike sat up, watching the flames dancing around their linked hands.

“OK, so not my fault you didn’t believe me back in Sunnydale,” Buffy said quickly. “But let’s face it, Spike, you can hardly think I’m pretending now.”

“So you chose – ”

“I chose you, Spike. As you chose me. You refused to let go of the world because you loved me. I refuse to go to heaven because I love you.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. She buried her head against his chest and for a long time they sat, the mist whirling around them, pain running through their bodies, living through an ecstasy of happiness that needed no words.

At last Spike groaned and tried to straighten a leg that if not broken was badly mangled by dragon teeth. “So we’re not dead, pet. But everyone else is, that right?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we’ve got to – ”

“I think we’ve got a chance to save the world – again! Mom said there was just a chance, a little chance, but if it’s there, then I suppose we have to take it. I’m the Slayer – or one of them. There were a lot of us at the end. Not that it made any difference.”

“There’ll be fighting and running and pain – ”

“Slaying and worry and despair.”

“And no bloody way of knowing if we’re going to succeed, of course.”

Buffy found herself smiling and bent to kiss her mate. “Jeez, you certainly know how to sum up a situation. But you’ve missed out the most important thing.”

Spike raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll have each other!”

Spike laughed and watched as the little flame dancing along their clasped hands grew brighter and bigger. He struggled to his feet, leaning against the woman he loved, taking her strength and using it.

Beyond them the mist swirled around a landscape of broken rocks and barren slopes. So all these years of fighting and loving were not yet ended. Bloody hell! What did a vamp have to do to be nice peaceful dust? He turned his head and two sparkling green eyes met his gaze. Well, not fall in love with the Slayer, he thought, and then grinned.

“Ok, pet. Let’s get going. I wonder if there’s a bottle of Scotch left in this world anywhere?”

And sliding hand in hand down the hill, they vanished into the mist - together.

The End

 

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who read and reviewed this story. It was the very first one I wrote and has a special place in my heart.


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